Desperation
by 157 yrs
Summary: It was the closest a human had ever come to cutting out their own heart. Ulquiorra's human death.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach**

It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered.

_He watched as they pulled her charred body from the wooden stake. His eyes scanned over the remains, but there was nothing left to indicate who she was. All of her features were beyond recognition and buried underneath the black, crisp layer of burnt flesh. The small window to his cell gave him a perfect view of the platform outside. They had left the hooks in his eyelids and so he was unable to look away from the terrible scene. The tears streamed down his cheeks and he was unable to stop them. They tasted bitter on his parched tongue._

His spirit was utterly broken. They had taken everything from him. His love was gone, his courage abandoned, his honor stained. Whatever allies he had, had betrayed him. His friends had deserted him. His family had been used to exploit him. He was desolate. The pain was too much. He was drowning in it.

_The bonds from the Strappado he hung from had become loose after his wrist had been dislocated. The inquisitor hadn't noticed during his departure. They would be back soon and his time was short. The next session would begin again._

He no longer wished to suffer. He no longer wished to feel. His body was fading and somehow he knew the only thing keeping him anchored to his pain was the organ in his chest.

_They had scorched his throat and burned out his vocal cords so he could no longer scream. The pain was overbearing as he twisted his dislocation and further broke the bone so that he could slip his hand through. He did not utter a sound._

He wanted to hate them all, but it was no longer worth the effort. He wished that they did not have the power to bring him down to such a pathetic state. He cursed his affections and attachments. In the end, they had all become vices that had brought him down. He didn't want them now. He wanted to be free of everything.

_On the other side of the room, there was a small table with straps and blades and vile concoctions. They were used during the sessions to loosen one's tongue, but he had never confessed to anything. It was all a moot point now that he could no longer speak... He longed to reach the knives on the table._

Death dripped above his head, invitingly, but oh-so-slow to descend - like frozen molasses falling from a spoon. It could not fall fast enough.

_Once his wrists were free, he nearly fainted from the heavy weight of his weak body. He could not hold himself up under such conditions. His legs folded and his dirty, naked body fell hard onto the stone floor. He took care not to smash his face, as the mesh of blood and hooks in his eyes would surely blind him if he did. He needed his eyes.  
_

Instinctively he knew, that even in death he would not be able to escape the memory of atrocities that had been inflicted on his mortal life. His soul was marked - stained - infected. Perhaps in hell it would all burn away. He hoped for such a terrible end, for the promise of heaven was nauseating and short fallen after the despicable wickedness they had forced upon him. He could no longer acknowledge such peace and goodness. He didn't want it.

_He used his forearms to crawl across the uneven pavement and drag his useless body behind him. His pace was slow and his breathing was labored but the end was in sight. The table grew nearer and nearer. Briefly, he wondered what had happened to his wife and infant daughter. Then pushed the sentiments from his mind. When the inquisitors wanted something, anything that stood in their way was eradicated. Either way, it was too late now. Such sentiment had no place in him any longer. _

He hoped that it would all end. He wanted it to end. He no longer wished to hope or want or dream. The only thing he longed for was the silent, white noise of nothingness that death promised.

_Shakily, he reached up onto the table and felt around with his dirtied fingers until he found one of the knives. Trembling, he withdrew the knife and pointed it squarely at his heart. Without any hesitation, he plunged the knife deeply into his chest cavity and began to carve. _

He didn't want it anymore. What a heavy burden it was. He hoped to be free of everything once it was gone.

_The blood made his grip on the knife slip and his cutting become sloppy, but he tried to continue. Thump – thump the organ began to slow as his life force leaked out. The pain was so incredible, but he willed it away. The tears kept coming but they were ignored. He was cold and frightened but refused to acknowledge such things. Nothing would have power over him ever again. Darkness began to seep in and just as the he reached into the hole to grab the organ, everything disappeared and he was no more._

Without a heart, the chain eroded very quickly.

The pain was nothing he wasn't accustomed to.

He welcomed the mask that grew over his face. Perhaps it could protect him from the memories and chaos of the past. It was the perfect shield.

The last thing was the hole that he had started. In death, it hollowed out completely and he couldn't will it on fast enough.

Slowly, the memories and desires wilted away and died. His hopes and dreams faded to ash. The terrors and darkness of his past evaporated into fumes, everything ended. Soon only the thought of his name remained until that too was ripped away. Then there was nothing left of the man. A deep insatiable hunger and instinct to satisfy the impossible overcame everything and before the shinigami could arrive, all the human inquisitors in the vicinity had been devoured. The corpse gave little clue as to where the creature had gone.

_It was the closest a human had ever come to cutting out their own heart._


End file.
